the Skabelund love language of food

We've been home for almost a week now, but certain items in my fridge, freezer, and pantry remind me of the home-where-I-grew-up, or at least where I did much of my growing up.  I still have a fair bit of growing up to do.  

The food I am enjoying of late:

• peach preserves from Becky
• elk, thanks to Joli's tag, Dad's harvesting, and everyone's hands to break it all down
• blue cheese dressing made by Dad
• squash grown by Dad
• jars of peaches, pears, apricots, jam, applesauce, and sauerkraut canned by my parents

I often feel like Anton Ego or Marcel Proust when I eat any of this.  A bite of canned pear takes me back to Sundays after church when our standard lunch or snack would be cheese toast with canned fruit.  The elk evokes many fond memories of time spent on both a snowy mountain and in my parents' kitchen with my cousins, aunts, and uncles.

Above all, as I partake I feel loved.  I am blessed.